What I Did on My Easter Vacation

My first few hours in San Antonio looked like this.†




There was apparently an accident on the *mgvflrgl* Loop that had the left lane closed. Or two lanes, if you believe the big red X's over the two left lanes on the *mgvflrgl* Loop, which I did, so I crept along in the second-from-right lane until I'd passed that point on the *mgvflrgl* Loop that was supposed to contain the accident.

I believe the Texas DOT and the local radio stations like to play pranks on unwitting tourists.

Anyway, things got better.

For instance, I passed this church...




...which apparently meets in a storage unit. Or possibly a decorative rock sales yard.

Once I got to Wimberley, I checked my email to see if there were further instructions on the evening's activities.

"Meet us at Ike's!" the instructions cheerfully instructed. "We should be there around 9:00! Or possibly 10:00! Or maybe 8:30!"

As it was about 6:00 and my last meal was the latte I had at Caribou Coffee in the A Terminal of DIA, I decided to find something to eat.

The nice woman who runs the Mountain View Lodge suggested Juan Henry's.

Since I'd seen Juan Henry's in my Google search of "best restaurants wimberley texas," it seemed like a good bet.

"Also, there's Juan Enrique's. I read about them too," I said in my head. "I bet they're related. That's kinda clever. Probably owned by the same family or something."

I drove past Juan Enrique's on my way to Juan Henry's. Five miles into the trip, when the road had narrowed to one lane and the pavement was spotty at best, I decided to start over.

After making the whole loop again, I decided Juan Enrique's was just going to have to do and I pulled in.

Just inside the door? A sign that said, "Welcome to Juan Henry's."

When I ordered a margarita, the waitress said, "You're a club member, right?"

"Um, nooooo..." worried that it might be a country club or something... or like those places in Utah where you have to pay a membership fee and bring your own bottle.

"Oops. Well, I just made you a member. I'll bring the application right out."

So I filled out the application and am now a proud Juan Henry's Club member. And I have the card to prove it.‡




I arrived at Ike's about 9:00, worried that I was going to be way early.




Minutes later, I got a text saying, "Forget Ike's - come to the cabins and bring booze!"

We stayed up very late drinking and talking. The next day was the wedding day, so I opted to tourist around a bit.

The reason I picked the Mountain View Lodge out of the host of options available to me was that it had a walking trail that boasted a genuine allosaurus track. Like I'm going to pass that up.

I flipped through the plastic-bound trail guide in my room, but all it had was names of flowers - no pictures. So I deemed it too bulky to mess with and struck out on the trail.

First, there was yucca.




Then I went downhill for a bit...




...then uphill.




Then uphill again.




In my heart of hearts, I will always be sure I went uphill way more than I went downhill, despite ending in the same place I began.

But there were flowers along the way.

Star flowers...




...bell flowers...




...pink flowers...




...Indian paintbrush.§




There were dangerous yucca obstacle courses...




...but I made it.

Without ever seeing the dinosaur track. Turns out I should've taken the bulky trail guide with me.

I decided to head to the center of Wimberley to find postcards for the nephews and grab some lunch.

And take pictures of the bluebonnets. Because that's what you do in April in Texas.







So, funny story: I was unpacking my suitcase when I got there Friday and realised that I'd brought both pantyhose and thong sandles. I deliberately did not bring a razor.

I'd shaved my legs Thursday morning, which would be fine with the nylon illusion of smoothness pantyhose offers, but was completely unacceptable for complete bareleggedness and two days' stubble. In my travels Friday night, I stopped to get some Nair.

I took a little nap Saturday afternoon, carefully calculating just how much time I'd need to get to the wedding in a time and fashion that wouldn't cause the bride a stroke. When the alarm went off, I shuffled into the bathroom, stripped and began applying Nair to my legs.

After the requisite time to dissolve hair, I turned on the water to warm it up. I pulled the shower starter and found the shower head pointed straight to the back wall. I reached up, tilted it down and... it broke off in my hand.

I turned off the water to quell the deluge and sat on the edge of the tub to assess my situation.

I was naked and covered in sulphurous Nair now clotted with dissolved hair bits. I was running the ragged edge of acceptable timing to get ready. Even if I could find a way to get decent and get to the motel office, I wasn't going to have time to switch rooms or have the shower head repaired.

So I performed all ablutions in contortion under the bathtub faucet, occasionally hopping out to let the globs of Nair/hair go down the drain.

I was sticky.

The wedding, however, was lovely enough that it couldn't be tainted even by my slightly over-conditioned hair and strong soap smell.

The altar


The tables and centerpieces



The traditional nuptial salt lick


The traditional raising of the ladder by underaged groomsmen¶


Dave and Kara's son Jasper# in a rare still moment


I don't know this kid or his parents, he just made the picture better


See? Picture without some random kid - not as compelling


Assorted groomsmen at the ready


Kids are doubly cute when they have a job to take seriously


Maisy (Dave and Kara's daughter) is case in point


Some free spirits can use a little guidance


You don't have to be a kid to look cute on the job. This is Jenny, Dave's and Lisa's sister, Matron of Honour


Lisa, the bride


Maisy ate nine or twelve clementines before the dinner was even set up


Ruben (Jenny and Jeremy's son) seemed suspicious of the salt lick.


Kara found the coolest thing for Lisa for a wedding gift.





If I ever get married, you know what to do.

The cake topper was pretty cool.




And I can't stress the joy of lighted things enough. If you have an outdoor night wedding, please consider a wide assortment of things that can light up.††




Sunday, I returned to San Antonio with the intention of having a nice lunch on the Riverwalk and finding postcards to send to the nephews, but was mostly thwarted by the NCAA Women's Final Four.




They had a floating pep rally. Cheerleaders and marching bands on rafts. Awesome.

Too many people forced me to abandon the Riverwalk in disgust, so I had lunch at the airport.

That was my trip to San Antonio. Three weeks ago.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That would be the windshield of a Ford Focus. I may be spoiled by the trademarked whiptastic handling of the Mini Cooper, but my honest assessment is that a Ford Focus handles like a shopping cart with a sticky wheel.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Though I don't for the life of me know what privileges or responsibilities that bestows on me.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The only flower I know the actual name of.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Dozens of adults looked on, never doing more than say, "I wonder what they're doing." Fortunately, they couldn't figure out how to lock the extension, so it wasn't long enough for whatever they were planning on using it for.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): A quick lesson on why I was in San Antonio: Dave and I have been friends since freshman year in high school. Lisa and Jenny are his sisters, whom I've known since Lisa was 13 or so and Jenny was 9 or 10. Kara is Dave's wife, Jeremy is Jenny's husband. Kara and Dave have two kids, Jasper and Maisy. Jenny and Jeremy have one son, Ruben. Or possibly Reuben. And we were all gathered to see Lisa marry Edmundo, despite the fact it looks like I was there to take pictures of plants and make fun of churches.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Particularly if you're going to have stoned people at your event, because it's something stoned people and straight people can both enjoy equally.

I'm Running Behind as Fast as I Can

So while I try to finish the blogpost I started two weeks ago,† please entertain yourselves by playing your own blogs‡ on the Code Organ.§

Brought to you by today's Very Short List. If you don't do VSL, you might consider giving it a shot. Then you, too, could get cool shit like this every day.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): OK, maybe three.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Or those of friends, family, cable channels, government entities...

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): ...speaking of government entities, I believe I'll go play the IRS website. Tax Code Code Organ - it's meta and makes me feel wildly clever.

Crappity Crap Crapple Crapstick

Sunday morning.

8:00 am.

Doorbell.†

No, no, no... wait. Let's get some background here:

Four weeks ago, I had a notice on my door, along with a release,‡ so someone could fix my deck railings,§ which look like a ramshackle country sheep fence.¶

"You'll have to be there for the first four hours so they can do some tests for leakage in the garage and house."

"Do your crews work weekends? I'd rather not missing any work if I can help it."

"No. NO weekends. NEVER. Idiot! Why would you even ask such a thing? Barbarian! Fascist!"#

So we agreed on Monday the 12th.††

You know where this is going.

In a spectacular, bruising, bloodying, life-sized game of Patio Furniture Tetris, I loaded out the deck and rendered my dining room useless for the next several days.

I'm pretty sure Manny and the Snow Removers do decks in the warmer months.

And I did more before 9:00 am than I had ever intended to do all day.‡‡


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Preceded by many, many backup signals. I hate backup signals.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Which I mention because I'd like to bitch about it as long as I'm bitching. Y'know, as an efficiency measure. I rewrote the release because it essentially said, "You agree to let our people in your house, now and forever, for the purpose of fixing, inspecting, maintaining bits of the house with no date or time restrictions and you agree to hold them harmless for any and all breakage or damage." I have finally discovered the practical application of being a Landman.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It was supposed to be fixed before I moved in. Then, after three years of asking, they let me know they weren't going to fix anything because the HOA was suing the builder for such things as wildly substandard deck rails and they didn't want to pay for anything the builders should pay for. Fortunately (since the giant set of patio furniture wasn't enough, then the planters weren't enough), the compost barrel was finally enough to trigger Murphy's Law so I could move the maximum amount of ungainly stuff into the house.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Great for a quaint rural sheep farm. Not so great for an urban townhouse.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, her mouth may have said, "Oh, no, I'm sorry, we don't work weekends," but I'm sure her eyes said "Fascist!"

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): i.e. - tomorrow, but most notably not today.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Hopefully getting out of Kim's doghouse in the beginning of a misery-loves-company trend.

Double Crap!

The comments are often interesting. Sometimes, they're downright hilarious. Today, they were humbling, as Kari reminded me of a little oversight† on my part.

I was so busy talking about myself and saying things to make Kim hate me‡ that I completely forgot to tell y'all that Hans got a job too.§ Same place. We'll probably still have adjoining offices.¶

*whew*

There.

Back on the high road.#


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): *cough*

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dear Kim, I've said it before:

"Look at me," said the star, "I'm shining so brightly." Then it went supernova. The moral of this story is obvious. - Tanith Lee, The Silver Metal Lover

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And he doesn't even have to be one of my minions.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): There is some chance I will have to move to the other side of our floor, given my two extant minions office there and it's where the empty offices where the two TBD minions will likely live.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where a saint-in-training belongs.

Crap

One of my future co-workers† asked today, "So since you're going to be an employee, does this mean you can't wear jeans every day?"

I hate the voice of reason.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Y'know... all formal-like in another week-and-a-half. I've been working with her for three years.

But Enough About Me

I love otters.

Otters are my favourite non-domestic† animal.

[SUMMARY: Still about me.]

From today's 5280 Panorama email:

Search for Fugitive Zoo Otter Enters Second Week

Kitchi, the otter who masterminded‡ a successful escape from his Cheyenne Mountain Zoo§ enclosure on March 25, is still on the loose, despite three other accomplice otters being quickly rounded up nearly two weeks ago. But officials are finally reporting progress in their extensive dragnet of Colorado Springs, reporting that they've found otter tracks in the mud beneath an overpass. And although the tracks may be several days old, zoo officials say they feel confident they're on the trail of the elusive Kitchi, writes the Gazette . Kitchi's distinctive prints were discovered in a culvert beneath Westmeadow Drive, behind the Cheyenne Meadows King Soopers, says zoo tracker Nichole Mantz: "This was our first stop [Wednesday], so it was a little surprising." Otters like Kitchi aren't native to Colorado, making Mantz sure the tracks are Kitchi's. The zoo has deployed a team of trackers who hope to snare the otter, along with a van loaded with capture gear. If you know something, call the 24-hour otter hotline¶ at 719-648-7348.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And you know if they domesticated otters, I'd be the first in line to have one.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Otter mastermind is just brilliant.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which, for those of you who were in the Denver area in 1980, is where Albert the Alligator was imprisoned after his escape and coincident 28-day summer romp in City Park. For those of you not in the Denver area in 1980, many ducks were eaten out of the lake at City Park.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Anything is better and funnier if you use "otter" as an adjective: otter mastermind, otter hotline, otter squad, otter paws.

Holy Cats

From: "Christina"
Sent: Wednesday, April 7, 2010 1:02:14 PM GMT -07:00 US/Canada Mountain
Subject: Congrats Slingbox Winner!

Hi there!

Congratulations! Your bracket was picked by 850 KOA to win a SlingBox for the 2010 March Madness promotion!

You need to pick up your prize at our station. We are located at 4695 S Monaco St, Denver CO 80237. The prize window is open from 10:00am until 5:30pm Monday through Friday. You have until 5/10/10 to pick up your SlingBox from us.

If you have any questions, please let me know.

Congrats!

Christina
Clear Channel Colorado
AM Promotions Assistant
KOA, KHOW, AM 760

Procedural Question

Took lovely vacation.†

1. Took fantastic new job.‡
2. Won tourney pool.§
3. Came home last night to find new Nintendo cooking game% on the front porch... along with a new chef's apron,¶ onion goggles,# a Cuisinart†† stainless steel stockpot and a truly beautiful, big bamboo chopping board.
4. Went to happy hour with Kelley. One bottle of wine, one beer, one order of chips and salsa: $16.25. God bless half-price bottles of wine.‡‡

The question is, do I buy the lottery ticket because I'm on a roll, or have I used up more than my fair share of luck?§§


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): With glow sticks!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Yes, I did. The company that's been my client for the last three years offered me a full-time, permanent position. After carefully weighing the pay (a little less than contractor pay, but that's expected. I'll have to watch my pennies for most of the year, I'm guessing, until I get used to not having free rein of my gross pay), the benefits (401K AND pension, raises AND bonuses, med/dent/vision for $1 a month, garage parking for $25 a month, four weeks paid vacation a year, 10 holidays and one floating holiday a year - for those of you scoring at home, that means I get a full month of and paid per year. Well, for the next four years until I get FIVE weeks vacation a year. Discount stock plan and LTIP [long term incentive program, and when I figure out the LTIP thing, maybe I can explain it to someone else], which means more cash prizes.), the location (same place, five miles from home) and the position (they created it for me, keeping in mind my short attention span, and I will have MINIONS. FOUR MINIONS), I decided that at my age and stage, I couldn't pass it up.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Cash, yes, but bragging rights more important.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): America's Test Kitchen...



to go along with my last two Nintendo-supplied games, which we never talked about.




Professor Layton: wonderful puzzle game (I like puzzles).
Style Savvy: like electronic Barbies.


¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Red.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm very sensitive to onions. I hope the goggles work.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Cuisinart!

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Every happy hour at El Camino, which sounds divey and suspect, but it's actually a really nice neighbourhood bar in what is considered a pretty nice neighbourhood. Despite the name and the discount wine.

§§FOOTNOTE (head... spinning...): I'd hate to be the victim of the first exploding lottery ticket or something, which is where I fear this is headed, given the Kharmic Green Stamps I've cashed in over the last few days.

#NintendoEnthused - plus there's a new hashtag that's supposed to say I've been compensated by Nintendo, but you already knew that and I don't remember what that hashtag looks like. Y'all know Nintendo ships me stuff and I talk about it. I hope you also know that if it sucked, I'd tell you so.

It totally does not suck.

Duke Wins, BOB is King

OK, so in this scenario, the king would have to die of a mysterious stomach ailment and the crown prince would have an "unfortunate accident" so I could be king, but still... I'm aghast. I've never done nearly this well in March Madness.

In other news...




...I flat out won the Coral Room pool. That's cash in my pocket and bragging rights for... if I have my way, the rest of my bar-going life.

So this is what it feels like to be a princess.

Here Now, the News

Quite possibly not the news you would expect, given my latest post and assorted Twitterpation,† but some news.

I have just returned from San Antonio and the wedding of LisaB and Edmundo.% Pictures to follow‡ shortly, but for now, three things:

1. If you have a wedding§ outside at night, hundreds of glow sticks and their flashier cousins@ are utterly cool.
2. Jen, Kara and I should totally form a girl group. Our rendition of "Tainted Love" was ten kinds of awesome.¶
3. If you are going to San Antonio, think twice about going during Final Four# weekend. The floating pep rally†† was fantastic, but the ballers, cheerleaders, bands, coaching staffs and all their dearest friends, family and schoolmates‡‡ were overwhelming.
   

[SUMMARY: There is no summary. These things don't go together except in my head.]

Speaking of...

Sports naysayers, avert your eyes:

Due to my beloved Coach K's victory over the WVa team that propelled me to giddy heights of March Madness bracket standings, I have catapulted once again, now ranking a stunning THIRTEEN§§ out of 1124 in the 850 KOA brackets.

All hale the mighty BOB!¶¶



[SUMMARY: Once again, yay me.]

By the way... one of the perqs under this job offer is a full four weeks' paid vacation my first year, plus the eleven paid holidays everybody gets.

The executives making the offer pointed out that I would've had Friday off and paid if I were working for them right now.

[SUMMARY: Some fairy godmothers just don't play fair.]


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You know how sometimes I think I'm funny? Well, sometimes I think I'm clever too.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which are actually two separate things, as Lisa got married in Wimberley, home of one of the first (when I was eight - not this weekend) of my many near-drownings... a little story I'll probably include when I share the pictures and the shower story. Huh. Water and Wimberley and Marin are a scary combination.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And a funny story concerning a shower.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Or a birthday... or a free Tuesday night...

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Like this.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): There may have been alcohol involved.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Women's. I flew down with no fewer than twelve NCAA women's coaches. I seriously thought there might be some sort of lesbian festival in San Antonio this weekend before I found out I was going to Tournament Town.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Until you've seen cheerleaders form a pyramid on a barge, you haven't really lived.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not to mention - because the sentence was getting too long, so I didn't - ESPN, CNN, travelling teams from the local news stations pertinent to Stanford, UConn and whomever else was in the women's Final Four.

§§FOOTNOTE (I'm all twirly): I had to write it out because there's no way to capitalise "13."

¶¶FOOTNOTE (beating a dead horse like a drum): Beasts of Burden. B.O.B. My perennial fantasy sports team name... in case I haven't already explained that.

Veni Vidi Venti†

I'm dizzy.‡

Job offer. BIG decision. Frighteningly big. Excitingly big. Dizzyingly big. Upsettingly big. Not-sleeping-tonight big.

I need a Magic 8 Ball, like, now.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I came, I saw, I drank a really big coffee?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And blushing. Guess how often that happens.

Dear IRS...

Could this make mailing the tax check palatable?†


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Pun *totally* intended

San Antonio

If you had two disparate days in San Antonio, what would you do?

This is not a trick question. Nor a rhetorical one.

We May Never Pass This Way Again

My brackets, heading into the Final Four.




My rank, out of 1,124 people in this contest.




That's the top two percent for all you statistically-inclined math dorks out there.

I always knew I was special.

Go Duke!

Lovelace for the Computerlorn

From Think Geek, county seat of all things wise and weirdiful:

"Attention geeks far and wide!

Did you know that [March 24] is Ada Lovelace Day? The only daughter of poet Lord Byron, Ms. Lovelace wrote the very first computer program, inspired by Charles Babbage's analytical engine. Wherever you are tomorrow, show some love to the self-rescuing code princesses you know. Buy 'em some Fritos and raise a can of Mountain Dew in Ada's honor.

Hooray for girl geeks!"

And if there are any girl geeks out there who know how to reset my wireless card, I'd be forever grateful... I'd build a shrine to Ada Lovelace in my living room.

Saints are allowed shrines, you know.

The Moment You've All Been Waiting For

At least it's the moment I've been dying to share with you.†

[SUMMARY: Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.]

I shan't drag you through the litany of "stuck in the camera" and "busy at work" and all that. You know the song, I'll let you sing it on your own.

Suffice to say I finished Dr. Doom's Christmas sweater around the end of January,‡ then through the vagaries of joint custody, finally got it to him mid-February.

I took the basic top-down raglan sweater,§ I've been using for everything Nephew, added a textured alligator belly through the miracle of intarsia-in-the-round, then winged it on the sleeves.¶

%





It was the winging it part that really mucked up the works.

There I'd be in my chair at work, madly correcting, explaining, marketing, e-schmoozing and otherwise getting the job done, when suddenly, sleeve panic would hit me and I'd start doing the alligator thing with my elbows,# using paper clips to mark the place where alligator lips should be and re-figuring where alligator mouth should go...

[SUMMARY: Every person does multi-tasking in his own way.]

Is it any wonder I was so absent for so long? I had a lot going on.

In the end, I think it worked out pretty well.




But the true test is how it works for Dr. Doom.

[SUMMARY: Proof, meet pudding.]

First, getting naked in Chipotle.††




Then test-driving the beast.






Why, arm, what big teeth you have!




Let's see, important knitting stuff:

First, this is the proudest knitting moment of my knitterly life. It's the closest I've come to designing something, and it's something unique and cool and interesting and wowing and I'm just so tickled.

The sweater was originally inspired by this genius shirt from the Discovery Channel Store. I quickly realised that a white and pale grey shirt was no match for a five-year-old supervillain, so I decided to go with the classic gator.

Other than the pupils of the eyes, which are Dark Horse Fantasy, the whole thing is knit in Cascade 220 Superwash.

I made nose-holes‡‡ of I-cord loops.

The eyes took as long as the rest of the sweater put together. I had alligator eyes all over my living room for weeks. When one gets a solid vision of what one wants, it's hard for one to accept anything different.§§

One thing I believe the pattern misses, and that I missed too, is that when you put the sleeve stitches on holders to knit the body, you cast on an inch under the arm.

Which - and this is very important - adds two inches to the body of the sweater.

[SUMMARY: Math even I can do.]

On the one hand, I was delighted to get gauge. On the other, getting gauge meant I was the full two inches bigger than I wanted.

I had planned to sew up the sides, take out a couple of inches, but figured I'd better try it on the good Doctor first.¶¶ Yes, it's just a bit too big.

The neck is also big, being unfinished. I knit a nice 3-2 rib collar about 37 times and it always seemed too small.## So I left it unfinished for maximum headroom. Yes, it's just a bit too big.

I told Brother I wanted to take it home and finish it properly and he assured me Doom will be wearing a t-shirt under it most of the time, so aesthetically it's OK.

[SUMMARY: Aesthetics are what you're looking for in a sweater for a five-year-old.]

I don't know if he doesn't want to put me out or if he's afraid they'll never see it if I get my grubby hands on it again.

Hey! We've had a fair amount of knitting around here lately. You'd almost think this was still a knitblog.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And, y'know, it's all about me. And my lamp.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And I would've finished it *much* faster if Dr. Doom hadn't given me a VERY COMPELLING game for my Nintendo DS for Christmas. *ahem*

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And I'm not sure why I keep using this one, except that it's familiar. The sizing is all wrong, vis-a-vis boys S-M-L. I always ask Brother to measure a shirt that fits, then try to match the inches from there.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Wing... sleeves... heheheheheh... I'm funny.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): With the new office, I no longer have a clean white wall behind a hanger to photograph my sweaters. Whatever shall I do now?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Sound effect: "RAWR!"

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note the find cow hat on Brother's head, a Valentine's present from his favourite Seester. He brings me Icelandic sludge and lopi, I bring him cow hats.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): nostrils-nose holes ... to-may-to, to-mah-to.

§§FOOTNOTE (twisted definition time): Read: lesser.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (you can beat it into my head): I may not be a math genius, but I do have my moments of clarity.

##FOOTNOTE (square head, round hole, pound pound): Which I determined by trying to fit it over my own head, under the suspicion that heads grow less than anything else in a person's life, therefore kid heads must be nearly as large adult heads.

You Want My Brother

For all y'all knitters who weren't mackin' on my brother prior to this,† direct your attention to the following story:

Brother went to Reykjavik last week.‡

Brother and Hans and I met§ at the Tilted Kilt¶ to watch the glory that is the first day of March Madness.#

Brother brought me a present:




Which contained this:




The story behind the Lopi: Brother says it seems itchy, that they probably joke in Iceland that it's itchy wool.% He said I may never want to knit it into anything, but he figures it'd be cool to have genuine Icelandic wool carted from Iceland in my stash.††

Take a moment for that to sink in.

[SUMMARY: *boggle*]

A man, a NON-KNITTING man, who has embraced the actuality, the conceptuality and the psychology of a knitter's stash.

I think this is a real lesson for us all: what we're really looking for is a man with an older sister who knits.

[SUMMARY: And my thermos... and this lamp...]





He also brought me this box full of bath products from Blue Lagoon, one of the most popular tourist destinations in Iceland.

[SUMMARY: Yes, that is a punchline.]

Apparently, it's a hot springs, a giant pool with mineral properties that will make you live forever if you bathe in it and drink it.

Only it's not natural.‡‡

It's the output of a geothermic power plant nearby. The mineral tailings form a sludge that sits at the bottom of the pool and in conveniently-placed sludge tubs all around the pool. People get in the water and scoop up the sludge and slather it all over themselves.

"So did you feel all glowy? Ten years younger?" I asked.

"No, you feel stupid. You look around at everybody else and you say, 'Yeah, you all did it too.' "

[SUMMARY: Stupidity in numbers.]

Are you jealous? If you didn't want my new stash enhancement, surely you wish you could get your hands on my sludge.§§

Or my brother.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Those of you who were might want to look away before you're blinded.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They were going to go to Cuba, but then it got too dangerous.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): We call it "business lunch."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Sort of like Hooters with more obvious boobs and more TiVis to give it a greater illusion of sports barness.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Trademark.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Has anyone out there in Blogland knit with this stuff? It doesn't seem *terribly* scratchy, but if you have firsthand knowledge, I'd love to hear about it.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Bonus points to brother for using the word "stash" correctly in casual conversation.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not in the coming-out-of-the-rocks sense that we're used to in the Rocky Mountain West at least.

§§FOOTNOTE (ssludge!): That's what she said!

Bustin' Out All Over

I have triumph to report.†

[SUMMARY: Ta-daaa!]

My cousin Tani, who gave me my first orchid and is a seasoned orchid-grower herself, told me once that if your orchid re-blooms, that's the sign‡ you're doing the right thing.

Now, my phalaenopsis orchids§ re-bloom like bunnies,@ but my two non-phals¶ sat dormant these last couple of years, until last Tuesday.%




[SUMMARY: *POW!*]

I swear I'm not exaggerating; I watered the sink-adjacent plants in the morning as I grabbed the kitchen trash to go out for garbage day. I removed something dead-looking on this particular plant, so I got a good and memorable look at it.# There was no bloom, no bud, just plant.

When I got home, I put Cat for Scale's bowl on the counter to give him his daily dose of canned food†† and there was a full-blown, vividly dressed, life-size orchid.

The next morning, the second was nearly fully open.

This is unretouched colour‡‡:



I bought this plant almost two years ago and it hasn't bloomed since right after I got it home.

[SUMMARY: Still waters run deep?]

This must be a metaphor for something.

*************

In other amazing orchid news,§§ the two orchids I made you look at last year are in bloom again as well.

[SUMMARY: Call me June...¶¶]

Actually the Fireworks orchid, the one Tani gave me to start my collection,^ hasn't stopped blooming.

If you do it right,## if your orchids are happy and you prune them judiciously post-bloom, they'll often bloom twice.$

Fireworks budded last February, bloomed, re-bloomed and just re-bloomed again,††† with new and tiny buds showing up every other day. It may never stop blooming.

[SUMMARY: It's ALIVE!]

That has to be a metaphor for something too.

Hell of it is, it really needs to be re-potted, but one is only supposed to re-pot during non-blooming cycles.

OK... that. That should definitely be a metaphor.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which must be a welcome change for you after the bitching about work in the last post. You may also note I am changing the footnotation colour to green to match the new blog scheme and the coming season of floral wonder.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not just A sign, but THE sign.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The kind you generally find in the grocery store. The easiest orchid to grow, and I'm living proof.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): It's a multiplication thing, right?

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The one pictured is a Cattleya. The other, still not blooming since eBeth gave it to me almost three years ago (though I nearly killed it at one point and have been nursing it back to health, so that may have something to do with it), is - I think - a Vanda. You're welcome.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yes, Columbo, I know it was Tuesday because it was trash day.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): 'Cause as long as I was grooming, I gave it a good once-over to see if there were bugs, mold, dead leaves, buds, new leaves, a leprachaun...

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): As I am wont to do.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Forgive the Georgia O'Keefeness of it all.

§§FOOTNOTE (look at you, you're just beside yourself): Since I know you're on the edge of your seat.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (hit me with your rhythm stick!): 'Cause I'm bustin' out all over. Surely at least ONE of you (if not ALL of you) listened to Dr. Demento back in the day.

^FOOTNOTE (carated): The pink and white one in last year's post, as opposed to the yellow and pink one.

##FOOTNOTE (let me pound the point home): And by "you," I mean "I."

$FOOTNOTE (cashed): Like, in a year. Usually for three or four months, then the plant goes dormant for about six months. All previous re-blooms in my world have had a month-long break in between as the plant takes a little vacation between projects.

†††FOOTNOTE (must be Easter soon. Look at all them crosses.): Seriously... just as the last two or three blooms would hit that sad, wet tissue look and drop off, a new bud would fatten up on another stem and off it'd go.

Knitpiphany!†

Carol Jean sent yarn.‡

Beautiful Black Bunny yarn.




Beautifuller even than I thought it was when I first pulled it out because it's so light, so pastel, I thought I'd have to let it grow on me.§ Only there's something moody and shoreswept about it, like the faded paint on a seaside ice cream shop, and it grew like kudzu in a wet summer.^




[SUMMARY: Poetic yarn.]

It's 50/50 alpaca/wool, and a generous serving size,@ so I squish it on a daily basis and didn't know what to do with it.

Then, in my current round of blog gluttony,¶ I ran across a lovely post with lovely pictures and a scarf that made me catch my breath.%

[SUMMARY: A pattern of melodrama.]

Perfect. It's *perfect*.#

This has never happened to me before. I'm a little dizzy.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Have I used that title before?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Despite my calling her Carol Jean behind her back, I got the yarn because I'm in her Black Bunny Yarn Club, rather than because I'm her BFF. I'm not as special as I may have misled you to believe.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It may shock you, but I'm generally not a pastel person. For those of you scoring at home, I think the top picture is more true to colour - at least on my monitor.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Hans agrees.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): 530 yards of fuzzy, halo'd goodness. Just right for a saint-in-waiting.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Some of you may have noticed swarms of comments from me, some covering posts you made months ago. That's me, catching up after the great Workicane (Workopalypse? Nine on the Workchter Scale? I'm working on it. Whatever it was, it was an unnatural disaster with gale force winds.) of O'9. The boss called last week because he had dinner with the VP who brought me on here and he asked what our (Hans and I) workload would be like so he could schedule in impending projects. "Divestitures are going to slow down this year," Randy the Veep is purported to have said. "What the HELL does that mean?" I wailed at John. "Six-day work weeks instead of seven? Only working twelve hours a day?" *ahem* Excuse me. A little vent is good for the soul. A saint-in-training can't afford to have a constipated soul.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): It's not the cleverest or the most complex or the most graceful, it's just perfect for the yarn at hand. And I *really* like it. The designer calls it "Mabel's Scarf," but I recognise a Greek key when I see it, so it's All Greek to Me.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm a perfection virgin.

Injury, Meet Insult

"I want to use a whole assortment† of four-letter words right now, doc," I said to the optometrist when he told me I NEED BIFOCALS.

I've worn glasses for years for three things:

1. Driving at night.
2. To see the names on the jerseys.‡
3. Movies.§

[SUMMARY: Keep your eye¶ on the important things.]

Apparently, I got old overnight. One day, I gauged where to hold my book by how comfortable my arms were, not where I could see. Because, you see, I could see. Everything. Just fine. Far or near.

Then, *bam!* one Tuesday,# I couldn't see the computer screen. And that night, I had to hold the book an inch from my nose.

So. Bifocals.

I reeled around the mirrored displays, blindly†† picking up one frame after the other, waving them in front of my face in a desultory manner, humming "Glory Days" and craving dinner at 4:30 for some reason.

[SUMMARY: No focus‡‡ at all.]

Old, feeble brains can't multi-task.§§ It seems I was... less than thorough in my search.

To those of you youngsters out there with all this wonder ahead of you, let me give you a little tip.




Don't forget to check the whole frame before you order.¶¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like a big, brightly-coloured Costco assortment.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You know how it is with free agency and salary caps. Sometimes you don't know a soul at the beginning of the season.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When I remembered them. It was always a proud day when I could say, "Oh, we can sit anywhere. I remembered my glasses."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I worry that I have a form of Alzheimer's which has as its primary symptom uncontrollable punning.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Um... if I remember correctly.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Oh, no...

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Punzheimer's!

§§FOOTNOTE (*so* confused): And just remembering the words to Glory Days is multi-tasking in and of itself.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (*headbonk* *headbonk*): For those of you scoring at home, the random, ugly triangles are orange, purple and white. All I wanted was copper frames. I thought they'd go with my hair. I showed Hans and he didn't even try to make like it was OK. "Your hair almost completely covers the bad part," he said, helpfully.